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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102308">To Forget</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ieavethecity/pseuds/Ieavethecity'>Ieavethecity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, F/M, Kinda Alcoholic Richie Tozier, Mentions of drugs, Underage Drinking, kinda PTSD, please just don’t read this if any of the above will trigger you!!, slight gore, slight self harm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:54:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ieavethecity/pseuds/Ieavethecity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie needs help and he knows it. He goes to Beverly, who cares for him and his wounds</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beverie, Beverly Marsh &amp; Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, bevchie - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blood slowly soaked into the dark blue blanket thrown over Richie's bed, making a black, sticky mess. It made his room smell slightly of iron mixed with weed. The smell made Richie feel ill</p><p>The moon was high, casting a gentle silver-blue hue into Richie's room. A summer breeze made its way into through an opened window, the breeze being laced with the sounds of screaming cicadas and croaking toads. The sounds filled Richie's ears with their desperation, making him clench his jaw.</p><p>He stood, his hands shaking violently as blood dripped from them. He had accidentally cut his forearm on the knife he had been drunkenly messing around with. The cut was deep and long on his arm, just a few inches above his wrist.</p><p>He still held the vodka bottle tightly, possessively. His eyes were wide and glassy behind his spectacles. They looked like the dark, glassed over eyes of a mounted deer</p><p>The bottle, slick with blood, slipped from his fingers and dropped to the ground. It shattered against the wooden floor, shards of broken glass sparkling as they spread all over the ground. “Holy fuck,” he whispered, bringing a trembling hand to his hair, putting a hand into his dark curls. It made his hair just slightly matted with blood. “Holy <em>fuck</em>,” He muttered again, beginning to walk to his door</p><p>Converse shoes crunched on the glass as he made his way to the door. His hands now hung by his side, muscles tightening. There was a look of pure, drunken illness on Richie's now very pale and blood-smudged face. “<em>Holy fuck</em>,” he murmured quickly for the third time, voice breaking down slightly.</p><p>The smell of vodka and weed floated towards his nose, mingling with the iron of the blood. <em>His blood</em>.</p><p>He gagged, turning too quickly to reach for the door, tripping on his own feet. He landed face-first on the ground, hardly even feeling the pain do to how drunk he was. He had definitely cut himself on some shattered glass, but he had tomorrow to feel that</p><p>“I’m so fucked,” he whispered to the night. The night was silent in their reply, yet comforted Richie anyway</p><p>. . . .</p><p>Beverly was comfortably sat in her bed, back against the bed frame as she looked through a Vogue magazine. The magazine, which to Beverly were more like a source for education and inspiration, was comfortably laid out on her lap.</p><p>She heard a small knock at her window, which made her flinch and tense up in surprise, eyes immediately going to the window</p><p>Slowly, Beverly began getting up from her bed, trying to be as quiet as possible.</p><p>"Fuck- C'mon, Bev, lemme in," Richie slurred, tapping on the window with his nail</p><p>Beverly muttered something under her breath before walking to the window, unlocking it and opening it up. She saw a bloodied Richie smirk slightly at her "Hey there, Hot Stuff." He slurred, standing on the fire escape landing before her window</p><p>"Holy shit, Rich, what happened to you?" She asked, taking his hand as he crawled through into her window. “Umm,” He stumbled into the room, falling onto the ground "<em>Oops</em>..." he says, then laughing in amusement, throaty and drunken</p><p>"Richie!" Beverly exclaimed. She was at his side within moments, carefully helping him up "Be quiet..." She mumbled, "My dad's out at the bar- but I do not need the neighbor telling him she heard a boy in my room..." She seemed to get a bit sidetracked for a moment, eyes going somewhat cold</p><p>Richie put a long arm around Beverly's neck and shoulders as he stood up, Beverly putting a gentle arm around his waist to keep him steady "C'mon, Bev, you know I can do no wrong," He flashed her a stupid, drunk grin as she led him to her bed, carefully sitting him down</p><p>She let out a small sigh as she looked at him, taking in all the beautiful chaotic mess that he was. She looked at the dried blood all over his arms, smudged on his face, having to tear her eyes away from him "Stay there." She told him, using the same tone you use with a pet or a child. It made Richie frown a bit, but he temporarily did as told</p><p>Beverly began to walk out of the room, but stopped when Richie tossed a small pillow at her to get her to stop. Beverly turned around quickly "What, Richie?" She asked, tone slightly annoyed</p><p>He laughed seeing her reaction, whipping his eye with the heel of his palm "Can you make me a-a PB &amp; J?" He asked</p><p>Beverly smiled just a bit as she looked to the boyish sixteen-year-old before her. He was so childish sometimes. He could go from being completely innocent and sweet to chaotic and inappropriate at the change of a breeze "I'll make you a sandwich, but you have to have water with it. But just," She walked to the door, hand on the knob as she turned back "Please stay quiet."</p><p>Richie flashed her an easy smile, which Beverly took as her answer. She walked from her bedroom, keeping the door slightly open so she could hear if he began messing with anything.</p><p>She immediately went into the bathroom, going to the cupboard just under the sink. She began getting some rubbing alcohol, bandaids, Neosporin, the medical supplies one may need</p><p>Richie didn't stay put for long. He almost immediately stood up once he knew Beverly was far away enough to not hear him very well. He began to walk around the room. He looked at the peach-colored walls, how the lamp on her nightstand made them an even hazier pink. He looked at the carpet, looked at the plants, looked at the magazine she had on the bed. He looked, but didn't touch. Doing all this looking made him a bit dizzy, giving him a slight headache. He threw himself on her bed, causing it to creak and make him bounce, which also didn't help the dizzy feeling he felt</p><p>Beverly soon returned to the room, arms full of supplies. She sighed a bit as she realized he probably got blood all over her blankets "Sit up, Rich," She said softly as she shouldered the door close behind her, soon coming to the side of the bed so she could put everything down</p><p>Richie did as told with some reluctance, the wild-haired boy groaning as he sat up. He picked up the bottle of rubbing alcohol, looking at it with squinting eyes "Want-" Hiccup "me to drink this?" He said dry laugh, finding himself rather funny Beverly watched him with slight amusement as she took the rubbing alcohol from him, setting it down on the bed "What did you get yourself into? How'd you get so messed up?" She asked as she took a seat next to him</p><p>Richie smiled as he looked to Beverly, who'd begun soaking a towel in rubbing alcohol, admiring just how pretty she looked. She wasn't just pretty, she was beautiful. "I jus' got fucked up," He said simply and honestly enough. Beverly didn't seem all that surprised by his response, at least she didn't outwardly express her surprise</p><p>She gently took his hand, frowning as she noticed all the scratches and dried blood. Even though he was rather drunk, her taking his hand made him still feel fluttery. It made him blush, though his blush easily blended itself in with the flush he had from the multiple shots he had taken earlier. Her taking his hand made a small tingle go up his spine and to his skull, where it buzzed around for a few moments</p><p>"Jeez, Rich..." She bit her bottom lip a moment before warning, "This is gonna hurt a little," She then began carefully dabbing the wet cloth onto his skin, which resulted in Richie gasping air through clenched teeth</p><p>She stopped a moment, looking over to him to make sure he was alright "You... You really need to stop doing this." She told him softly as she looked back to his hand, which now laid on her lap as she continued cleaning it "Alrigh', mom," Richie said, rolling his eyes slightly, though that seemed to just cause more of a headache</p><p>Beverly stopped her cleaning, looking over to him with concern in her eyes "I'm being serious, Richie. You need to stop." She said, her tone far less soft this time. Richie pulled his arm from her, glaring slightly. Beverly didn't seem to care, though. She took his arm gently again, placing it down on her lap as she continued to clean the dried blood, now beginning to work on his wrist. Richie didn't pull away this time.</p><p>"I mean..." She took in a deep, tired breath. She didn't want to be having this conversation with him. She cared about Richie. Fuck, she loved him. She truly loved him.</p><p>"This isn't the first time you've hurt yourself like this." She said, looking over to him Richie didn't look at her. Instead, he kept his gaze on her hands, which were on his, gentle and considerate. When Beverly didn't get a reply, she just went back to work wiping and dabbing away dried and smeared blood from his hands and forearm. "Why do you do it, Rich?" She asked, not looking to him. "Why do you drink?" She asked, eyes still on his arm</p><p>Why did Richie Tozier drink? It may sound cliche, but he drinks to forget. To forget the past, the present, and hopefully the future. Where is he? Who is he? What is he doing? Why can't he tear his eyes away from the freckles just about her lips?</p><p>He wants to forget the storm in his mind. The storm that strikes fear in his being, the storm that leaves him up late at night in a contemplative mess.</p><p>His thoughts moved quickly. Too quickly. Too violently. Too unpredictably. Alcohol helped with that, helped to slow that down</p><p>Richie shifted uncomfortably, shaking his head "Cause it's fun." He closed his eyes slowly, chewing on his bottom lip for a second. Beverly shook her head slightly as she heard his answer. '<em>Bullshit</em>.' she thought to herself</p><p>The two fell into a comfortable silence as Beverly continued to care for his wounds, always remaining as gentle as possible. Her hands were caring and warm. They calmed Richie down some. The sound of chirping crickets wafted through the window, soothing and sweet.</p><p>It used to be endearing- a tipsy Richie making his way through Beverly's window or inviting her to hang out in a field or on his trampoline to watch the stars. He would  meow at stray cats until they came over for him to pet, laugh about fireflies, ask Beverly to sing him After Hours by The Velvet Underground. He was sweet. The sweet, tipsy Richie was the Richie Beverly had fallen for</p><p>He still is sweet. But he's also bitter and angry at times. He never purposefully showed this side of himself to Beverly, but with the good came the bad. Sometimes he would storm off. But he always came back once he was a little more sobered, apologizing repeatedly</p><p>. . .</p><p>Once Richie was all cleaned and bandaged, Beverly led him into her small kitchen. She checked the time, letting out a small breath of relief. It was 11:23 pm. Usually, her dad was home, completely wasted, around 1 or even 2 am.</p><p>Richie took a seat on the counter as Beverly added two slices of bread into the toaster, pushing them down before getting out a spoon and the jelly and butter. She looked to Richie, watching him carefully with crossed arms as she waited for the toast to pop up. "Richie..." He looked up quickly, dark eyes meeting her light ones. He wanted to look away- she looked so disappointed. Concerned. Loving.</p><p>Richie did look away, beginning to play with the tape securing the cloth to his bandaged arm. "I love you." She told him simply, fearlessly. She didn't care if he did or didn't remember her saying this in the morning. She meant it. She loved him as a friend... but also as something more. Still, that wasn't to say her heart wasn't pounding in her chest</p><p>Richie looked back to her, mouth falling open slightly. Beverly's words hit him hard. They were sharp, like ice-cold water cascading over dangerously spiked rocks. It was enough to sober him up just a tiny bit. He wanted to say something smart, something quick, but... he just couldn't. He couldn't say anything.</p><p>He flinched slightly as the toast popped up. The short-haired redhead didn't seem to care about his lack of a reply. The look in his eyes said more than enough. She went to the toaster, setting the golden-brown bread down on a paper towel before opening the jars. She spread the peanut-butter on both pieces of the toast with the spoon, knowing that's how Richie liked it. She added the jam, then closed the sandwich up</p><p>Richie bit his bottom lip as he watched her "I'm sorry." He said quietly. His eyes weren't as glassy anymore. They were more focused, more sincere. Beverly shook her head slightly, a copper lock falling before her eyes "Please just stop doing this." She said, not looking at him</p><p>He clasped his hands together, looking down at them. Beverly walked across the kitchen, going next to the fridge to get a bottle of water. She came back over, standing in front of him as she handed him the sandwich and bottled water.</p><p>She looked somewhat hurt. It was hard to tell, but it was there. Richie set the sandwich down, reaching for Beverly's wrist, gently taking it into his hand. He seemed to be playing something over in his mind, not looking at her as he did so. It made Beverly worry some. "You okay?" She asked softly with the slightest frown</p><p>Richie looked up slowly, eyes heavy. He looked tired. Like he needed sleep. "I am sorry, Beverly. I keep fucking up," His lips became a pinkish line as he held back from tears. He <em>did not</em> want to cry in front of Beverly, not about this.</p><p>Beverly put a gentle hand over the one on her wrist. "That's doesn't matter, not to me." She told him quietly. "Even the best of us fuck up sometimes." She seemed to hesitate, looking for his reaction. He didn't look to her, but he was listening. She knew that when he softly squeezed her wrist, a wordless but meaningful 'thank you.' "It's what you do after you fuck up that matters." She eventually said</p><p>This made Richie look up, a frown forming behind his glasses. It looked like a storm was forming in his eyes as he took in this information</p><p>He stayed quiet, licking his cracked lips. Beverly watched him do this, his pale cracked lips turning to shiny pink ones</p><p>He moved his grasp from her wrist and to her hand. He played with her fingers, gently bending them. He knew she was right.</p><p>The storm caused a lot of damage, but it also made for some beautiful moments.</p><p>Sometimes, he wishes he hadn't forgotten so much of how to draw. He could still remember the basics, could still sketch out something dark and littered with meaning. Things like that were byproducts of trying your best to forget who you are. Richie likes to pretend like its possible to delete the ugly and to keep the beautiful, to only exist in the beautiful.</p><p>The storm that rages in his head, though, rages in the rest of his body as well. It feels as though it's consuming him inside out. A fiery passion mixed with a cruel pain, resulting in a chaotic cocktail</p><p>It's a shame. He thinks Beverly would look good with storms in her head.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>another chapter for the lovely miney :) i more than appreciate your comments (i honestly adore them), so i decided to add another chapter &lt;3 sorry this one is so rushed, i wrote it while low-key high lmfao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was strange just how gentle Beverly was with him. Richie could handle a lot, but that didn't matter to her. She always tried her best to make sure he was okay. After all, taking care of him managed to make her feel better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn't let him walk home alone. After he had finished his sandwich, Beverly had insisted upon letting her take him home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"C'mon, Rich. We gotta get you home." Beverly said softly, standing on the landing outside her window. She waited a few moments longer before taking hold of his hand, easing him out of the windowsill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole time, Richie was softly snickering, smiling about how stupid he must've looked trying to climb his lanky self out of a tiny window. But he managed, and soon enough, he and Beverly were carefully walking down the stairway, hand in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they got back down on solid ground, silence again fell over the two as they walked. Even though it was only a little past 12, Derry was almost completely silent. There wasn't a car or walking person in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, fear of her father finding out that she left the house twisted her stomach. That uncomfortable feeling slowly fled her being as she watched Richie staring up at the sky, a brilliant smile plastered on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was lovely. Possibly the loveliest. Even when he scared her- like tonight- he somehow managed to be so... </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He reminded her of a cherry-red scarf blowing in the wind on a grey day. He was unlike anyone she'd ever met before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's your mom gonna think?" Beverly finally asked. Darkness consumed both of them, though it was somewhat comforting given the moon in the sky. It made it easier for Richie to hide from her view when he cringed just a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothin'." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh really?" Beverly smiled just a bit. "And how does that work?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighed deeply, stumbling a bit as he walked. "She jus'... She doesn't care." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly frowned, tightening her grip on his hand just slightly. He was beginning to get a little too weak-kneed for her liking. On top of that, she knew Richie's mom did care. But she also knew the woman traveled often- so perhaps he was left alone tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Richie?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Promise me something." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly didn't know if Richie was really capable of promising anything given his current state, but it was worth a try if it meant she'd be helping him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Promise you'll stop drinking." She slowed him to a stop. Then, he surprised her when he met her gaze with his own. He was listening. "I mean- you're changing, Rich." She hesitated a moment. "It scares me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A deep, harsh frown crept onto his face. He, suddenly, felt like shit. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry about it." He said softly, beginning to walk again. Still, his hand was in hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Richie, seriously." She said softly as she walked with him. "You know I love you, right? I just want you to be okay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie didn't say anything, and he hated not saying something. The problem was- there wasn't anything for him to say. He couldn't tell her how he drinks to feel normal, he couldn't explain how who he is sober scares the fuck out of him. So silence was the best (most difficult) option. It was the one he didn't think he'd regret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two remained walking in silence, hand intertwined in the others. Until Beverly spoke up, that is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I stay at your house tonight?" Beverly softly asked. She knew what she was asking of him- what she was risking. Her father would probably be a walking hurricane come the morning sun, but that's okay. She could deal with him just fine. She couldn't, however, deal with the thought of Richie doing something stupid while alone. The thought of him hurting himself again made her heart pang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>".... You sure?" Richie asked quietly with a small smile. He pushed his glasses up with his index finger as he gazed down at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Positive." She said with a small smile of her own. To her surprise, Richie began swinging their hands back and forth. It was a comforting sway; nothing too overpowering. Just enough of a distraction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the walk was without conversation. Even as the two walked back into the house, they did so wordlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked up the stairs and to Richie's room. Immediately, Beverly grimaced when she saw all the blood and broken glass on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tomorrow." Richie said softly. He tore the blanket from his bed, allowing it to drop on the floor and cover the mess he'd made. The blanket was dirty anyway. He slipped his shoes off, then plopped down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly stayed quiet for a few seconds before going into his closet to grab a woolen blanket. She tossed it onto the bed before slipping her own shoes off, joining him in bed. The two of them didn't speak. They didn't need to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep came easier than it had for both of them in a long time. Richie found himself allowing for his head to lay on her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat. Bev's hand was draped in his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in a very long time, Richie knows he doesn't need to drink tomorrow. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>gah</p><p>i hate to say it, but I kinda like this concept. perhaps ill do more with it. i dunno, though.<br/>if you have any ideas for concepts or if to further this concept, please let me know!<br/>anyway, have a great day :) </p><p>ps. any constructive criticism is always welcomed!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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